Oh, Great Spirit!

Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the wind,

Whose breath gives life to all the world…

Make me always ready to come to you

with clean hands and straight eyes,

so when life fades, as the fading sunset,

my spirit may come to you without shame.

(Chief Yellow Lark of the Lakota Sioux, 1887)

On a recent walk through a county park I noticed a sign near the gazebo that I had passed countless times before. This time I paused to read it, and learned that the mound of earth in front of me (which I had assumed to be a nifty bit of landscaping by the park service) had been constructed by Woodland Indians between 500 B.C.E. to 350 C.E.

I was stunned. In other words, sometime between Israel’s return from exile in Babylon and the rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem, and the Church’s gathering in Nicaea to grapple with the mystery of the humanity/divinity of Christ – within this very same slice of history – people were falling in love, giving birth, raising families, hunting elk, growing squash, crafting artwork, settling disputes, telling stories, and burying their dead… right here in my own neighborhood!

That day I had been ruminating over my upcoming sermon for All Saints’ Sunday. And so I wondered: “How do these Pre-Columbian Native Americans fit into the story?” We don’t read about the Adena in the Bible; the Hopewell aren’t included on any lists of saints! And still... while Jesus and his followers walked the deserts, oases and villages of Palestine, human beings also created in God’s image walked the forest trails and paddled the rivers in what is today my neck of the woods near the Ohio River!

Could it be that our traditional way of thinking about saints has been a bit parochial? The stories of the Christian tradition are sacred, and the stories of Jesus are the most sacred of all. They give our lives joy, meaning, and hope. But our stories aren’t the only sacred stories...

These thoughts steeped in my heart and mind as my father-in-law neared death. Lex had been a pilgrim soul – always searching, never fully at rest in body, mind, or spirit. Raised Lutheran in rural Indiana, he eventually found a home in a Unitarian Universalist congregation. His faith seemed most deeply rooted in Native American spirituality. Indeed, he spoke often and passionately of the Great Spirit, the divine breath that infuses all of creation.

As Lex weakened, each of his daughters held a hand as we invoked the Great Spirit in prayer. His labored breathing seemed to relax in response to the soothing balm of touch and voice. Moments later, his blue eyes opened wide, as if surprised and amazed. He gazed steadily to the left, then to the right. Then his eyes closed, his body quieted and soon became still. Falling into the embrace of the Great Spirit who had created and sustained him, Lex was finally at rest. His astonished gaze was his final witness in this world, leaving each of us who remained with a blessing.

There is an extraordinary moment recorded in the Book of Acts.  Paul and Barnabas are in Lystra (modern-day Turkey) to preach the Gospel to people who didn’t know Judaism from Jesus. To these people Paul makes one of the most remarkable declarations in all of Holy Scripture: “God has never been without witnesses!” He then acknowledges respectfully that the people of Lystra knew God long before he and Barnabas showed up – in the rains that fell, in the bounty of the harvest, in the joy in their hearts. Chief Yellow Lark of the Lakota Sioux and Lex of Wells County, Indiana experienced God in a similar way.

Could it be that a saint is a witness to the providential generosity of God? Or, to quote our baptismal liturgy, one who’s experienced “the gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works?” If so, then our concept of the “communion of saints” explodes into something far bigger and more gracious than we have heretofore imagined!  And isn’t this the good news that Jesus tried to show us, in both word and deed?

In a way, these may seem like strange thoughts for an Episcopal priest preparing – during this holy and solemn Season of Advent – for the yearly celebration of Jesus’ birth on Christmas Day. After all, the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation has been called "the scandal of particularity!"  And yet... what is the Incarnation but that most sacred story we tell of the time the Creator chose to become human so that the divine spark planted within all might be kindled?  I’ve heard this story for over a half-century, and it still surprises and amazes me.